


And Roses Suit You So

by Anonymous



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Episode Fix-it, M/M, Multiverse Shenanigans, Two Geralts For the Price of One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:34:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22613389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: For a prompt on the Witcher kink meme: https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.orgSpecifically- for the prompt 'Book Geralt kicks show Geralt's ass', after episode six.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 103
Kudos: 791
Collections: Anonymous, Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> POV characters will be Book!Geralt and Show!Jaskier

-GERALT-

Normally, Geralt would be quick to say that stepping through a strange glowing portal into another world could only end in trouble, and trouble was something that was never in short supply. In fact, he stands by that, even as he approaches the thing, sensing... _something_ , on the other side. Someone in distress, something beyond his ability to put name to, but keenly felt just the same.

Which is no reason to throw yourself through a strange glowing portal into another world, and yet... Well, he's come this far trusting his senses, even when stretched to their limit.

"Wait here." He orders, not entirely sure if he's giving that order to Jaskier or to Roach. "And keep an eye on this troublemaker."

There. That's both covered, then.

"Wait-- Geralt, you're not seriously going to just... dive through?" Jaskier touches his arm. "What if it closes on you?"

"Then it'll take me a little longer to find my way back." He shrugs, but closes his hand briefly over Jaskier's. "I will be back. And with a story for you, about whatever's on the other side. All right?"

It isn't, he can tell. Still, Jaskier nods and lets him go, stepping back to stand beside Roach.

"We'll be waiting for that story, Geralt."

"I'll have to make it a good one, then."

If the portal were to close up behind him, or something was to go wrong, it would be all right one way or another. Jaskier would wait for him for a reasonable time... but if the portal disappeared, he'd know to go to Yenn, and Roach would bear him to her quickly and without complaint, and if Yenn couldn't sort things, then no one could. Even if it was only sheer dumb luck, though, something would bear him back to them. Destiny, perhaps. Or something enough like it...

The portal spits him out onto a mountainside. It seems peaceful enough, there's a nice wide plateau he finds himself on, though looking across he can see he must be high up, and there's more mountain stretching skyward behind him. He's only just come around a rocky outcropping to look for a trail when someone near to slams into his chest.

"Woah, there." He puts out a hand to steady the young man. Or-- well, young next to him, yes, but young in the way that Jaskier is 'young', hair untouched by grey and a face that could pass for thirty in broad daylight, but something about the eyes that speaks to having seen much. There is also something about the eyes that speaks to being rather near to tears. Either they've just been shed, or they're just about to be. "My apologies. Are you all right?"

"Oh. Oh, brilliant." The young-- young?-- man sniffs, throwing his arms up. "Another witcher, that's what I need! If you're here for the dragon, I'm afraid you're too late, so you may as well go."

It's a lot to sort through at once, even without the fact that this stranger should remind him so forcibly of Jaskier. He hasn't Jaskier's coloring, he's taller and just a little bit broader, but his sense of style isn't so different, and he carries a lute over his shoulder. It's enough to bring out a protective streak, even if it's not the most solid resemblance. Geralt decides it's more prudent to latch onto the 'another witcher' than the dragon he's apparently too late to bother with. It's possible another witcher would know something about whatever strangeness could be behind the portal, but it's just as possible-- more probable, even-- that it's the other witcher who needs his help. Not with a dragon, it seems, but with something.

"Another witcher?" 

"I'm afraid you won't find him good company." Another sniff. "But if you continue up the trail, you'll find him just the same. The white wolf."

-

-JASKIER-

He will not cry in front of Geralt. No matter how the words sting, he will not. To be dismissed like this, after twenty years... well, twenty years on and off. But more of those years than not have been lived in Geralt's service. Even when he hasn't traveled with him, hasn't he made his name one to be lauded rather than feared or derided? Hasn't he given of himself? And now it's all over, all meaningless, well... well he's not going to cry. Not where Geralt can see him-- not where Geralt can hear him! He will have his dignity, even if that's all he has.

The last thing he wants is to run smack into another witcher. It only sharpens the heartache, to see the tumble of snow white hair over broad shoulders, the gold eyes fixed on him as keenly as Geralt's ever were. He's not sure if this witcher is older, or if it's only that he seems that way, with a neat beard and a few more scars on display than Geralt has. But too much else is so similar, and he can only hold himself together so long, after offering so much of himself so long and having it all thrown back in his face.

"Oh. Oh, brilliant. Another witcher, that's what I need!" The words pour out of him before he can stop them, he doesn't even half hear what the man in question asked him. "If you're here for the dragon, I'm afraid you're too late, so you may as well go."

"Another witcher?" He asks, and his gaze is too keen and too familiar, and it's all too much.

"I'm afraid you won't find him good company. But if you continue up the trail, you'll find him just the same. The white wolf."

"The white wolf?" And suddenly he's being looked at even more closely. "You're certain of that? He goes by that name?"

"Geralt of Rivia." Jaskier nods, before it occurs to him that Geralt could have a serious rival or even an enemy among the handful of true witchers to exist. Well, Geralt could take him, be that the case, but what about his own safety? Has he handed himself over, and now that there won't be a rescue coming? He braces himself to be grabbed or menaced, but instead, a shaking hand rises to his cheek, the eyes on him grow ever keener.

"Jaskier? But... Where is he? Why aren't you with him?"

"Why don't you ask him, if it matters to you." He jerks away. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to find a way down this mountain, and since it won't be the way I came up... Say, how did you get here? The way we took's gone..."

"Er... Hm. Well, I didn't exactly come _up_ the mountain. But I'm sure I can help you find a way down."

"Thank you, no. I'm afraid I'm poor luck for witchers." He tromps determinedly in the direction they came up, hoping to spot any alternate path along the way. Even if the gangway he'd come by was an option, he'd be keen to find another way... At this point, fighting the tears is a losing battle, they're going to come. "You can ask Geralt. All I'm good for is trouble. Twenty years of my life, twenty years of rubbing salves and winding bandages and washing away blood, twenty years of odes and paeans catchy enough to win over suspicious townsfolk, twenty years... but all I ever do is bring down more and more shit for him to deal with, so!"

"He said that?" The other witcher's voice takes on a dangerous timbre.

"He said enough. So as you can see, it's really better if I go alone."

Jaskier pats himself down looking for a handkerchief, and doesn't find one. The strange witcher saves him having to wipe his eyes with his sleeve, handing him a lace-edged and embroidered hanky rather too fancy to be in a witcher's possession. It's wrinkled, and there are definitely old and faded bloodstains, but it's clean. Clean enough to ignore the bloodstained corner. The 'J' in the other corner has him half wondering if he'd dropped it himself, except the stitching isn't quite the same, and the color is all wrong.

-

-GERALT-

He can't recall the last time he saw red quite like this. Something about the fact that he's the offender makes it all worse-- well, the version of him that lives in this universe, with this dark-haired Jaskier. He can't imagine speaking that way to his own Jaskier, back home. They might bicker from time to time, he might be short with him on a bad day, but never... never _seriously_. He's sure that if he asked anyone who knew him, they'd laugh at the notion that he ever could speak cruelly to Jaskier. He can practically hear Yenn in his head, telling him he could no more speak cruelly to drive Jaskier away than he could drive away the sun. And even if he had it in him to posture and shout, he might bark if he liked, and fancy himself successful come nightfall, but the sun would be back by morning, and so with Jaskier. But he doesn't have it in him...

He might give orders like 'stay put and wait for me', when a situation might grow dicey, but it's Jaskier who could bid him jump off a bridge if he liked, and he would do it. It's Jaskier who could ask him any favor in the world and be granted it. How could some other Geralt be so dismissive, so callus?

"Where are you going?" This Jaskier asks, still dabbing at his tears.

"I'm going to have words with your witcher."

"Oh, don't!" He rushes up to him, grabbing at his arm. And isn't that just like Jaskier, to run into a witcher and decide without hesitation that he ought to throw himself bodily at him. To decide he will be safe doing so, when all other men cringe and cower-- even those ready and willing to start a fight have some fear in them, facing a witcher. "Please!"

"Give me one good reason not to teach that cur some manners, if he's hurt you."

"Because, I-- Because--" Jaskier struggles, still tugging ineffectively at Geralt's arm. "Please!"

He stops. Because, even if Jaskier won't say it, he still holds some love for this other Geralt. However ill-deserved.

-

-JASKIER-

The please seems to be enough. The witcher stops dead in his tracks, his head dropping forward with a sigh.

"I would still have words with him. Only words, if you prefer, but words." He says.

"You don't need to do that. I don't... I don't understand why you care to." Jaskier hiccups a little, giving his eyes a final wiping-at. He stares down at the pretty little 'J' on the handkerchief. "What's your name?"

"You couldn't guess?"

"Humor me. It begins with a J, I take it?"

"With a G." The witcher smiles at him, warm and teasing. Intimate, in a way that makes bubbles rise up inside of him, something he hardly knows what to do with.

Well, he knows one thing he could do with it, but he's not in the mood to drown his sorrows between the legs of a pretty bit of company, and even if he was, another witcher... no. Something about that would feel wrong, wouldn't it?

"Then you should get your money back from whoever does your embroidering."

"The J might be for 'Julian'... the handkerchief was given me, by someone dear to me, in another world. A world very like and very unlike this one."

"Might be?" Something heavy is swirling within him now, he finds himself believing in this other world without question. He thinks of how this witcher had known his name, touched his face, gazed at him as if... He finds himself reaching up without meaning to, finds his thumb tracing one of the heavier scars to cross this witcher's face. This Geralt? "This looks painful."

"It was, once. Not so much, now."

"I don't know what else to say." He admits.

"That's all right." The other Geralt's hand takes his, gentle. "I would just take you with me, but somehow I think it would not take very long at all, for you and my own Jaskier to decide you cannot abide sharing with each other. So there's nothing else for it but to give your Geralt a talking-to."

"You won't hurt him?"

"I don't plan to. I wouldn't mind doing it."

"For me. Don't."

"If he's not the type to attack first, then you have nothing to fear. I have something of a weakness for bards who make requests of me... even when those requests go against my own desire, to repay a little hurt to one who's done you wrong."

Jaskier suddenly finds himself thinking about the prospect of sharing this warm and flirtatious Geralt with another world's Jaskier. It might not be so terrible. Surely he could share with himself. The attention goes to his head faster than wine, and he finds he craves it more. And yet... how long before he felt too great a guilt? How long before he missed his own white wolf? Even if he's not wanted, something in him...

"I'm afraid I have something of a weakness for witchers." He shrugs, with a sad smile. "Even ones who are callus to me."

The other Geralt nods, and answers his sad smile with one of his own. They have an understanding, then... whatever else, they have an understanding.


	2. Chapter 2

-GERALT-

With this other Jaskier on his heels, Geralt storms up the mountain, following what trail there is, signs of quite a lot of people coming through, until he spots the other Geralt.

Clean-shaven, not so many scars... but him, just the same. Perhaps a younger version of himself? Hard to tell, the way he ages, but perhaps he's not yet seen some of the battles Geralt has seen in his world, or perhaps... well, it hardly matters.

"Geralt of Rivia! I would have words with you!" He calls, though it's not necessary to raise his voice-- the other Geralt had heard his approach from enough distance, is on his feet and watching, waiting. A frown creases his brow as he looks past him, to Jaskier, trailing close behind and tugging at his elbow. 

"Remember--" Jaskier says, brimming with worry. Worry this Geralt hardly deserves. He doesn't say more than that, but then, he doesn't need to.

"Speak, then." The other Geralt spreads his arms. "But you have me at a disadvantage. I was unaware I had a quarrel with you."

"I would have a quarrel with any man as cruel and as foolish as you have been. To be given what you have been given and to squander it. To throw away a gift any man in your shoes ought to be grateful for." He strides forward, the other Geralt moving to meet him. "You do have quarrel with me. And by the time I've had my say, you may well thank me for knocking some sense back into you."

"And just who do you think you are, to call me foolish?" The other Geralt stands before him now, shoulders squared, chest forward. His posture may be solid and confident, but his eyes keep darting to Jaskier, and the tension and fear in him is palpable. 

"I'm you, but better."

"Geralt--" Jaskier says-- he's not sure which Geralt he's addressing.

"Jaskier, get behind me." The other Geralt says. To his credit, anyone but a witcher likely wouldn't catch the tremor in his voice.

"Oh, now you play the protector? Now you're here for him? You, who hurt him, presume to protect him from me?" And he does grab at the front of the other Geralt's armor then, though Jaskier throws himself into the narrow space between them before the tension can boil over into violence.

-

-JASKIER-

"You promised you wouldn't hurt him!" Jaskier cries, flinging himself into the middle of a Geralt sandwich-- and not the sort he'd fantasized about once or twice. His own Geralt had been winding up for a punch, he stops himself short just before he can make contact with Jaskier rather than the other world's Geralt.

The strange Geralt releases his own, with a disapproving hum. "Very well. But only for your sake. I have no sympathy for any version of myself who has dug himself into his own misery with such meanness."

"Version of..." His own Geralt speaks slowly, staring at his double now. One hand comes up to trace where his face is unscarred, where the other Geralt bears them. He rubs over his chin next, as if struggling to imagine an unmarred and clean-shaven face across from him, trying to see himself. His other hand reaches for Jaskier, distracted.

"That's right. You. Only I would _never_ have sent my Jaskier away. I would never have allowed him to make his way down this mountain alone, unprotected. In tears."

"Well, let's not-- let's not overstate it, I mean..." Jaskier protests. The other Geralt has a protective arm around him now and his own is gripping his shoulder lightly. "You know, in my fantasies, being fought over was fun and sexy and flattering, but this is actually just quite tense and... not good. Not sexy."

"That's not what this is." His Geralt says.

"Isn't it?" The other Geralt's hand spreads across Jaskier's chest, and to be fair, it's a little bit sexy. A little bit sexy to be pressed close to the firm muscle of _a_ Geralt's body, warm and strong at his back. If he closed his eyes, he could easily imagine it was just his own and that none of this had happened, except for the hand on his shoulder. "I can take him with me. I'd be happy to."

"Not sure you'd like having two of me." Jaskier laughs nervously. "Think I'd wear thin."

"I don't know. I've had dreams about having two of you, always seemed pretty pleasant."

_Oh._ In this other world, were they really...? He'd been dizzied enough by the open care, he supposes it makes sense the other Geralt would be so kind, if the Jaskier in his world was a lover. He can't mean it, about taking him with him. It couldn't be good for the balance of things, could it? And surely the other Jaskier wouldn't like it-- although... well, he's never had a poor opinion of himself, and he imagines another version of himself would be similarly curious.

-

-GERALT-

It doesn't escape his notice, the other Geralt tensing when he puts an arm around Jaskier, a hand on him. It's purely protective, a reaction to the idea of any Jaskier, let alone his own, being hurt in any way. It isn't staking a claim or making a move to seduce. Even so, it's clear the other Geralt's not keen on it. And when he mentions taking this Jaskier home with him? The narrowing of eyes, slight, the flare of his nostrils... were he really a wolf, his hackles would be up. He's surprised he isn't _growling_.

"And just what gives you the right?" He leans in closer. "You can't take him."

"I can offer him a place. What gives you the right to stop me? You cast him aside, not me. You threw him away, as if he meant nothing to you. Why shouldn't he go where he's appreciated? Changed your mind, have you?"

And there it is, the moment when the proud defiance and the barely-contained fury and the disdain and discomfort all break, and there's only anguish on this face, which is almost like his own face, if less worn. He takes no pleasure in seeing it, but there is a satisfaction. Just as he would need something to break through to him and to break him, if he had hurt someone he cared for, this isn't about 'winning' or about hurting an opponent... this is simply kicking down a locked door to free himself-- well, this version of himself-- from a terrible prison of his own making, from a terrible decision.

In his own life, it has often been Jaskier, who served to kick down doors he put up-- though it's never been between the two of them. Between himself and the world, or... sometimes after a spat with Yenn. The two of them were something explosive, and often it merely took laying his head in Jaskier's lap and letting the bard talk him through it, and he would soften, no matter what was said in the heat of the moment. It kept things from being downright volatile, allowed them to better learn how to care about each other. He expects this other Geralt lacks that as well, but he's not here to fix everything for him. Just to knock enough sense into him to get Jaskier an apology, perhaps.

"I didn't--" The other Geralt's voice wavers and breaks-- at least, to him it seems that way. However stoic to the rest of the world, he sees and hears it all. He watches his counterpart's eyes turn to Jaskier, wide and deeply pained. "I don't... Jaskier... I--"

He shakes his head, and doesn't quite reach an apology. Well... he gave him the chance to.

"It's up to Jaskier." Geralt says, giving this Jaskier a gentle squeeze. "Whether he wishes to pick his way down this mountain alone, or to come back with me."

"Your Jaskier won't like it very much. Oh-- I'm sure he'll be more than welcoming to start. But... even if I don't wear out my welcome with you, I will with myself." He pulls away gently, with a little touch to Geralt's hand, with a sad smile. "You'd best hurry home to him, if the portal is still there-- oh, I won't forgive myself if it isn't. At least, one of me won't forgive this me, and I'm not sure which at this point. But... you'd best hurry."

"And you? You're certain?"

"I can find my way." He manages to smile a little harder, though the sadness doesn't leave it. "Really."

"Well... I trust you." He pulls Jaskier into a hug-- doesn't even have to look the other Geralt's way to feel the tension rolling off of him in waves. He can hear his breathing, his heartbeat, practically _smell_ the jealousy and the anger. "I would take you with me, and take care of you as if you were my own, but I trust you. Still... you're certain I couldn't hit him just once?"

"You promised!" Jaskier pulls back, giving him a stern look, and he chuckles warmly, cupping his cheek.

"See, now you remind me powerfully of my own little Jaskier. Which I suppose means I cannot break my promise."

"I expect he cares about you terribly."

"He does."

"Then you had best go. I won't be responsible for his misery."

He leans up, and directs Jaskier to tilt his head down, so that he can brush a gentle kiss across his brow. "I'll wait on my side, then. If it stays open, if I hear you in trouble, or if you change your mind-- it's just around the rocks where you met me. I can even show you where."

"I'll find you if I need you, if it stays open. But..."

"Yes. I know."

He releases Jaskier, and meets the other Geralt's murderous gaze with a cool look, a nod. He doesn't feel good leaving this Jaskier alone on the mountain, but... he has to trust him, and respect his decision. Still, once he returns to his own world, his own Jaskier, he will wait. Until the portal closes, or until a day or so has passed.

-

-JASKIER-

He falls back a step as he watches the other world's Geralt go, only to wind up backing straight into his own.

"Oh! Sorry-- I'll--"

"No, don't-- I mean, you don't have to be. Sorry." He stumbles over his words. As nice as it had been to be coddled and flattered by a Geralt who speaks his mind with ease, there's something comforting and sweet in the way his is sometimes... Something that reminds him of better days, in the way he tries. "Jaskier, _I_ should be sorry."

"You should be." He agrees. If there's one thing the experience with the other Geralt has given him, it's this-- another Jaskier might have crawled back eagerly like a dog at the first sign of softening, but now... now he's been reminded of his worth.

"I am. As soon as I said it, I was. Those words... they were never truly for you. I mean... I named things... things you were there for. But it's not been your fault, and even if any of it had been, I-- I was angry with myself. I... I was angry with myself, because I'd already driven Yennefer away. Like a fool, I thought to drive you away as well, so that my pain would be my own."

Yennefer... some of Jaskier's hope falls. The apology had felt so promising and then... Would it always come down to her? Would he always find himself alone and cold, while Geralt chose her bed?

"I understand." He says. "Only natural... If my heart had been broken by the one I loved, I might complain to a friend in time, but I wouldn't want you to see me cry, when the wound was fresh. Do you love her?"

"I don't know. I... understand her, sometimes. Other times no one could be further from my understanding. I feel for her, sometimes. I owe her a greater debt than I ever imagined I could owe. I enjoy her company. It is possible I love her-- but it is possible that what binds us is something else entirely, and if it is, then the fault is mine. But I don't know. What I know is... I am angry and I am sad to lose her, but not destroyed. You have had lovers, you must know the feeling."

"I do."

Geralt meets his eyes then, with a haunted look about him. "Have you ever been destroyed by love?"

"Only once. I wondered how my feet could yet move me, when I had lost my heart. I felt as if I did not breathe."

"I felt as if I would be, once, but I did not recognize the feeling. Not for what it was." Geralt seems to sway towards him, as if pulled by some force not quite strong enough to bring him forward. "I was frightened, and desperate, and up against a foe I could not fight. I felt as if my heart might cease to beat, alongside another's. That I could not live, if someone dear to me died. I knew then that I would give my life for that someone's, without thought nor hesitation. But I had no experience with love, and thought it would be beyond my reach, and so... I didn't realize until it was too late, what it was I couldn't live without, and why."

"What happened?"

"What happened was... that I incurred a debt, to a mage, to save the life of my love. And I imagined that the fear I had felt was not so great, and that the guilt I had felt was not so great. And that the bond I had felt was not so great. And then I sent him away from me, and when he had gone, I understood pain that even the life of a witcher could not prepare me for."


	3. Chapter 3

-GERALT-

The portal remains, until he goes back through it and it gutters out like a match in the rain behind him. His own Jaskier waiting with Roach, right where he'd left them... only a little agitated. He turns with a broad, relieved smile when he hears Geralt's approach.

"You promised me a tale." He says, voice just a little wet as he throws his arms about Geralt's neck, and Geralt picks him up and swings him around. "It kept starting to... change, a little, while you were away. Flickering. I worried--"

"You'd have known what to do, to bring me back. Well... you'd have known to go to someone who could, anyway. Now... I did promise you a tale."

They settle down together, lying half in the shade of a tree near where Roach browses the grass. Jaskier lies on his chest, toying with his hair and trailing fingertips in loops and swirls over one shoulder as he listens. He laughs, warm and low, at the suggestion of bringing the other Jaskier back.

"I bet you'd like that, you dirty old man." He says, kissing Geralt's chin, nuzzling into his beard. "What would two of me do for you?"

"Run me ragged." Geralt laughs, rolling over to pin him down. "I wouldn't have offered, if I didn't think you were a raging egotist, but you could pass a very pleasant evening with your own company, in another person. He was... sweet to look on, though not so fair as you. Perhaps not your usual type, in men, but I think you would have liked him. He resembled you enough... not in the lines of his face, nor in coloring, but in a spirit which shines through, and in the shape of his smile, when he could be coaxed into smiling."

"I am glad I'm not him, for it sounds as if I've the better end of the stick, where Witchers are concerned. You do show your love to me." He once more wraps his arms around Geralt's neck, and draws him in for a proper kiss. "You might show your love to me now."

"Is it my love you're after?" A softer chuckle, and he rubs his chin against Jaskier's neck until the bard finally protests the bristliness of it-- he does love it, and there's something very pleasing indeed about pushing him to just about enough, watching him recover from any excess of sensation. "Or is it something else?"

"Something very like your love, if you would help me undo all these buckles."

He throws his head back, laughing long and loud, and then he does help Jaskier with all the buckles between them.

-

-JASKIER-

"I do regret... how I did speak to you. I did regret it, instantly. I ought to have run after you, I don't know why I couldn't." Geralt stumbles over the words, not meeting his eye. "No... I know why. I was ashamed. And afraid you would see you were best free of _me_. You are best free of me. The blame I laid at your feet is just as fairly mine, for all your troubles. You face more danger for love of me than I ever could for you."

"So I do." He shrugs.

"Witchers don't retire. I can't give you the things you want."

Jaskier swallows, and lays his hand over Geralt's arm.

"I want only you. It's true I am not so young as I was, when I began following you all over the continent. But... I would follow you. I only thought... I only thought after this, a break. I only thought..."

Even with his own Geralt's halting attempts at opening up and making an apology, he doesn't dare reaching up to touch his face, as he would like. One thing to touch his arm, another to touch his cheek.

"A break... I don't know if I can. I don't know what I'd do. There are lulls between jobs, sometimes... always got restless, waiting, if I couldn't travel. But maybe..." He seems to chew over the thought a long while, before placing a hand over the one that sits on his arm. "Perhaps we can... go and see the coast. In the course of traveling? It's not in me to settle..."

"I just wanted to go away with you." Jaskier laughs, a little hysterical, not yet free of the heartbreak they're both struggling to move beyond. "I just wanted... for life to give you some beauty, after you were so... so bitterly disappointed. He said you would save him and then he fell, and--"

"He wasn't wrong." Geralt shrugs. "We couldn't have seen it yet, but... But it matters not, it matters not if I was disappointed, or saddened, or had true cause to be, or if I deserved any kind of a break from the life I lead, which I was not ready to accept, it matters-- It matters... Life gave me beauty, which I then threw away. Cruelly."

"Well. One never knows, the twists and turns of a life. Beauty lost may always yet be regained, in time. The sting will fade, the offense will be forgotten." Jaskier takes his hand back, trying to force a laugh that barely comes out as a huff, as he wraps his arms around his knees. "A hundred years hence, you and Yennefer will both be as beautiful as when once you lost each other."

"Don't ask me to think of a hundred years hence." He grunts, flexing his hand. Jaskier catches him staring at it, the one which had sat over his own. "If I still have not made myself plain... I fear I cannot be plainer. In the time since I have got you back again I have said more than I might have spoke two, three months alone, but I still don't know what words I need yet say. I had thought... I had thought you would see-- But words are your domain, not mine."

-

-GERALT-

Jaskier strums at his lute, the tune meandering and uncertain at first, surer with a little time.

"A mirror... I shall have to take my time with this one, it must be exceeding pretty." He says lightly.

He is still as naked as the day he was born, damp grass beneath him and his legs crossed, inspiration for the music striking too quickly to think of dressing. It is something Geralt thinks he is... fond of, about him. That he is an artist still, first and foremost. No matter his adventures, no matter his skills, no matter the courts he charms without need of his lute nor the battles he faces, when music calls, she calls. Not the only pretty mistress to draw his notice, now and then, but the only mistress to pull him yet naked from Geralt's bed. Or, in this case, a secluded enough campsite, where no camp has yet been erected, amid all the other excitement of the day.

Geralt simply hums agreeably-- his input at this stage is not much required, but his attention is. When he has the honor of being Jaskier's first audience, he is to be encouraging without being too distracting, but it is a duty he finds agreeable. He might, from time to time, tease him about an early rhyme they both know needs changing before a ballad is complete, there's a stage at which he is allowed. Jaskier knows full well that his talents are held in proper esteem, all teasing aside, and in truth he loves to be teased, simply for the chance to bandy back some of his own, until the first one of them cracks into undeniable laughter and a winner is crowned and kissed.

"A mirror, and a dark version of himself, who cannot be fought with steel but only with reason." Jaskier nods to himself. It's a bit... grand, for the story he'd given, but then... you give a story to a bard to make something of, and he will find the grand and beautiful in it. "A grave mistake which the forking paths of destiny had spared our hero from ever making, to be set right in another world. Or... or a glimpse at something-- warning?"

"I need no such warning." He wraps his hand around Jaskier's thigh, voice warm and rough.

"A nightmare to be faced?"

"Perhaps that." He nods. "Let me fetch you your notebook, now you've got the tune."

Geralt rises only as far as to his knees at first, that he might kiss Jaskier's cheek before standing and moving to collect the promised item-- he does note an admiring look in passing. He, too, has not bothered dressing when no one is likely to happen by them here. Not this far from the road. He shoots him a look that speaks of brewing mischief, but when Geralt stands before him, notebook, pen, and ink in hand, Jaskier's smile softens, and he merely leans forward enough to brush his lips across a thick ropy scar, where it wraps over the top of one thigh.

His older scars, he has noticed, are uglier, than the ones he's incurred since Jaskier's presence in his life. Jaskier is ever diligent about treating them, with repeated applications of liniments and salves. Left to his own devices, Geralt has always been content to know he'd live to have a scar. He'd treated his wounds and then he'd let them heal at their usual speed. Something about the way Jaskier does it leaves them softer, less raised, the color less changed. Geralt had never thought to dislike the look of the old ones-- a scar is a scar, and a man in his profession winds up with more than a few. Yet, he appreciates that Jaskier's care makes some difference. They pull and ache less, with the work that he puts in, which means that when they lie over muscles he must use often and well, he remains more flexible-- by bare degrees, of course, and yet does not ever bare degree count?

He brushes his fingers through Jaskier's hair, fond. "I am sorry to take your view from you, dearest friend, but as I only provide distraction from your work... I will dress, and hunt for our supper. And while it roasts over a fire, you will-- I hope-- sing me your song."

"If I can write a song in the time it takes you to catch a bird or a rabbit." He snorts. "I very much doubt it. But I will sing you the beginnings of it if it please you, and I will sing you any old song you ask of me. I will sing for my supper, yea!"

"Aye, and does not a lark always find his meal provided by whatever meadow he sings out to?"

"A lark may not always find such satisfaction, but it's true a swallow never goes hungry." Jaskier shrugs one shoulder, unable to hide his own mirth when he breaks through Geralt's steady demeanor, winning a stifled laugh from him.

"Well you are most certainly a _lark_ , or else you are a _great tit._ "

"As long as I be not a cuckoo."

"Nay, but you have left a few in your wake."

"Sure but I am a warbler, and let's leave it at that."

Geralt laughs again, and bends to kiss him, barely half-dressed. "You are a dove, as it pleases me. Now will it be a bird or a rabbit for supper?"

"If it is a bird, then I am a cannibal! Or at best I am a falcon, and that pleases me not." Jaskier waves an imperious hand, just to see him laugh once more. "No, it is decided, I am a dove. But if you see good-sized bird before you see a rabbit, don't let my foolishness stop you. Rabbit is a lean meat to travel long on, and we have miles to go yet before a softer bed than this earth welcomes us."

"Then I shall go into the woods a ways and see what she provides us. A ways-- so you can play without disturbing my hunting, as you write."

"You're a lamb." Jaskier coos.

" _I_ am a wolf."

"Then your sheep's clothing is convincing enough for me. I will write you a song to improve your appetites."

He kisses him one last time, before they part, each to his own work-- this time, with no worry lurking over them that they might be parted a while by anything more than the routine.

-

-JASKIER-

"Then be a man of action." He says, wild courage seizing him at last, all the flickering hopes he'd felt over the course of their stuttered and stunted conversation flaring wild at once in his breast. He feels a bigger man by it, and he hopes this new brave confidence is catching. "And I will know your meaning."

For a moment, which stretches longer than he might like, but not so long as to make him worry, Geralt stares him down as if trying desperately to get the measure of him. And then, at last-- at long last!-- he pulls Jaskier into his arms.

Jaskier had rather hoped for a kiss. In stories, there's always a passionate kiss at a moment like this, when the bold hero who is not so good with his words needs prove his love to... well, someone. The type of someone matters not. In stories it is often a princess and it is sometimes a milkmaid of exceeding beauty, or a tavern-keeper's daughter now and then, but Jaskier can't envision himself a milkmaid.

Instead, he holds him close, just holds him, so tight that Jaskier can feel him tremble. What power he must have, to make the white wolf tremble! He is half tempted to write a secret verse for himself, even if he never shows it to anyone. Geralt presses his face into Jaskier's hair, breathes him in in shaky draughts, and there is a barely-voiced little sound, keen want or emotion, kept tight at the back of his throat from escaping in any ungainly fashion. Only after he has held him tight to his chest and scented him and been satisfied, does he allow them to draw apart from each other enough, to kiss.

His fingertips are rough and callused, when they brush against Jaskier's cheek, but Jaskier's own fingertips are just as callused from his work. True, Geralt's palms are rougher, and Jaskier's smooth, but he finds comfort in that roughness, as Geralt strokes his cheek and he Geralt's. Those rough hands have kept him safe. When he was once in mortal danger, those hands bore him to help-- well, those hands and Roach.

When Geralt kisses him at last, it is with all the skill he may have felt his words lacking. Jaskier is, himself, quite the expert in all the arts of seduction, and though he normally takes the lead in pursuing his bed partners, there is a point at which kissing is truly a meeting of equal parties. Even the pursued must kiss with enthusiasm, if they wish to be made love to, too much reticence is uncomely! Well... a virgin may be reticent by inexperience, or a coquette may let you know that reticence is but an enjoyable game and your part is to make her forget her role, but Jaskier prefers to be kissed lustily by those who want him, and who make no secret of it.

Geralt kisses lustily.

"Suppose..." He pants, breath hot against Jaskier's lips. "Suppose that we-- suppose that if _I_ might prove myself a worthy travel companion? Would it be the coast, for a while?"

"How-- how would you prove it?"

He kneels, hands resting at Jaskier's waist, gaze heavy and earnest. "It may yet take me time to. I have... slipped. Whatever pedestal you once set me on is more than I do deserve, and too high for a man to keep his balance on. But if you imagine a task by which I might prove myself, set it to me and it will be done. That... that strange man, if he was me, then he... has learned to love you better. I know I should have asked him how, but had he thought to demonstrate any more love upon you, swords would have been crossed."

"I may set you any task? Any task at all?" A slow smile curls at his lips. "And you would bear it without complaint?"

"I owe you so much." He nods.

"And if I dressed you in silk and bade you escort me to some ball?"

"You do strike a cruel bargain. But I was a cruel man. I would bear it with no outward complaint-- No complaint against you. Should anything else happen as it did the last time, I reserve the right to complain against the universe. But not against you."

"And if I were accosted? Would you make a mockery of me as you did then?"

"I hope that I might say I know where your affections are engaged, and if any man would slander you against my word, he may pick the time and place to meet my challenge."

"And... if some lady of impressive assets bade you be at her side a while?"

"I hope that I might say my affections are engaged."

Jaskier bites his lip, and reaches out to touch Geralt's hair. It could use a good wash, once they reach an inn... he could do that for him. And then... and then...

"And if there were some disaster occurred?"

"Then I would carry you to safety if you bid me, or fight if you bid me, or not fight if you bid me. Depending upon the nature of it."

"And... if some strapping man sought my attention?"

Geralt snorts, eyes falling closed, and he nuzzles at Jaskier's wrist. "You have seen me when _some strapping man_ seeks your attention. It would displease me. But... if you bid me hold, if you are safe, I will hold. On pain of death, if you bid me hold, I will hold."

"This is an intoxicating power... I like it, and I like it not." Jaskier sighs, and kneels with him, and leans into him. "I would bid you, every now and again... I would bid you show the devotion you have kept secret, and railed against! You have hurt me to the quick, yet no part of my love for you died of it. I would bid you prove yourself a little, to be a balm on that hurt. But when you have made your amends to me... and shown that you mean to be good to me, and love me..."

Geralt breathes in, sharp. Jaskier traces over the back of one broad hand, eyes half-closing in contemplation, in sudden shyness of meeting Geralt's gaze. Finally, he finds the words he wants.

"When you have done so, then you will bid me, every now and again, to be pleasing to you. Or if your words fail you, be a man of action again, and take pleasure of me. That is-- I mean, if you--"

"Oh, I would." Geralt fair but growls.

"Then bid me not in word but in deed, _my own_ Witcher, when your turn comes to bid me." He smiles. "Ease my hurt, and I shall gladly be yours. But mark me, if I am displeased by your treatment at any time, who knows what shall happen! So if I were in your boots and leathers, I would be sweet with _your own_ bard. And for such matter, I must always find it in me to be sweet enough to you, else who knows what the air will open up and spit out upon us! We must mend our ways or be plagued by our own smug selves showing us a better path."

"You are smug enough in this world, I hope I never again need such a lesson taught me." He chuckles, and brings Jaskier's hand up to his lips to be kissed. "You will serve to keep me in line from here forward, I bow to you."

"Then I bend to you." Jaskier smiles. True, it is fair to imagine that it will take time to forget those harsh words... but if it was not enough to move Geralt to think he had lost him to an argument that may yet have been mended in future, it certainly moved him to imagine Jaskier lost to some other world, and so he does believe he will do his best to be more forthcoming.

And, it must be said, Jaskier hardly minds if Geralt must be a man of action to make his feelings plain.


End file.
